


Red Monochrome

by orphan_account



Category: Over the Garden Wall (Cartoon)
Genre: (but mostly fluff), Angst, F/M, Fluff
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-04-10
Updated: 2015-04-10
Packaged: 2018-03-22 06:11:08
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 738
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3718084
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Lots of fun Wirt/Beatrice ramblings 'cause watching Over The Garden Wall was an emotional joyride and now I can't leave</p>
            </blockquote>





	Red Monochrome

**Author's Note:**

> just nice sad stuff 'bout wirt and greg leaving the unknown and beatrice, because none of them are really ready, are they

_“Come with us.”_  
_“I... I gotta go home, too.”_

  
He cuts her wings, before she goes. He doesn’t want her to leave, and she doesn’t want him too, either, not really. She realises she’s missed the feeling of dirt in your toes and running your fingers over bark.

  
It’s a haunting scene, he supposes.

  
There’s hot and maroon blood against his fingers. Feathers flutter everywhere, getting caught in Wirt’s cape and fumbling around his cap, the wind bending them easily. He feels his stomach twist as he opens his eyes (they were shut?) and looks down towards her. His heart leaps more than it probably should.

  
Beatrice, she’s beautiful.

  
He’s not really sure if it’s by traditional standards, but he’s certain. Greg is dull against his back, the cold shoots daggers against his face, there’s blood on his fingers, and he still isn’t sure if any of it’s real, but she’s beautiful.

  
Her face is pale, starred with dozens of freckles; her eyes are slightly oval in shape, and framed with bunches of ginger hair. They stay like that for a while, looking at each other in disbelief. The wind swirls around them and Wirt knows he doesn’t have long, but he can’t bring himself to care.

  
Beatrice finally breaks into a small, close-lipped smile, picking herself up, grasping her blue dress.

  
“You... you should go,” she affirms, brushing her hair out of her face. He feels a blush creeping up to his cheeks, and he knows he isn’t ready.

  
“Can you really not come?” he nearly begs. His voice chokes up halfway and Beatrice’s face sours as she blink rapidly, trying to hold back tears. In a fluid movement, she tosses herself onto him. Hugging him tightly, she rests her forehead against his shoulder.

  
“I want to. I just can’t, I gotta help my family,” she murmurs. “You know that.”

  
_“Though I am lost, my wounded heart resides back home, in pieces, strewn across the graveyard of my lost love,”_ he whispers to her, for a lack of anything else.

  
“Is... is that your poetry?” she untangles herself, setting her hands on his shoulders. He grins meekly, and she lets out a tired breath. Her eyes are tinged red and her skin is flushed but she puts her hands on his cheeks, and she kisses him with a grin.

  
She kisses him, and it's suddenly like everything else has been in slow motion and this is it, this is the now. She kisses him cinnamon and autumn days and wind, and he finally comes into his right mind and kisses her back; when he kisses her, it's laundry detergent and bed covers and stadium lights. It's awkward, but it's okay. Poetry runs his conscience, and it's all love-y hogwash; _"T_ _he moon must have pushed us together / and even when I drown it'll be your name I think of /not Death's."_  Stars flood his mind and pool at his fingers, his shoulders relax, and he asks himself, did anything ever matter before?

  
They separate and Beatrice presses their foreheads together. She's out of breath and his free hand has somehow gotten on her waist. He leaves a stain of hot blood on the fabric as he pulls himself back. His shoulders suddenly turn sore from Greg's weight and his stomach lurches.

  
"I'll come back... I, I promise," Wirt spouts, and he feels himself on the verge of tears because no, no, no, he doesn't want to even have to go. "I promise, I promise, I promise, because I know it's only been like a week and you were a bluebird for most of the time but I think I might be in love with you and if I am how is it that I have to leave?"

  
Beatrice smiles weakly and they're both crying now, but Wirt knows he has to go, really and truly does. He starts to sputter the words 'I'm sorry, I'll be back' but she kisses his forehead and steps away. Her eyes are glistening as he nods and fumbles backwards. Everything suddenly starts to darken and he finds himself shouting for her, because oh god, he can’t leave, he really can’t, but it's too late. The world goes ink, water fills his lungs, and she’s gone, oh god, she’s gone...

  
He wakes in a hospital, waterlogged and confused, but the feeling of her lips on his won't fade for a long time.


End file.
